


When the Morning Star Rises

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Curse, F/M, Princess Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evening star flashes again and the light hits the swan, creating a dazzling sparkle that renders Killian blind for a moment. He blinks rapidly, trying to see again, and when he looks out at the lake the swan has disappeared. In its place is a woman dressed all in white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Morning Star Rises

The water is cool against his skin as he dips his palm below the still surface of the lake. Ripples immediately break out from the initial impact and from the drops that fall over his curved palm and down his flushed cheeks. Though the breeze teases the border between refreshing and chilly, his flesh is warm from his early evening hike through unfamiliar woods.

But now, Killian Jones, known to many as Captain Hook of the Jolly Roger, lets a grin break across his face at the sight of the castle looming on the other side of the lake. The sharp angles of its tallest peaks lend an ominous air to the structure. Fitting, for a place that inspires such foreboding to house the Dark One itself.

Killian, however, can only think of the pathetic excuse for a man as a  _crocodile_ , the moniker inspired by his scaly skin and the claw-like fingers that wrapped around the gently-pounding heart of the woman they both loved and squeezed until her lifeforce turned to ashes in his grip. To call that sort of a creature a  _man_ is more than he deserves. The pirate captain splashes another bit of water on his cheeks and a third scoop through his hair, damp from sweat. He runs a finger down the curve of his hook, a replacement for the limb stolen from him by the crocodile with the same breath as his love was taken, and relishes that a simple application of dreamshade upon its surface will render the weapon deadly to even the Dark One.

A palm runs hastily down the soft red brocade of his waistcoat in an attempt to dry it before reaching for the poison when the flutter of wings from above startles him from his preparations. Killian crouches lower to the ground, knees almost in the sand beside the lake, and cranes his neck upwards to search out the intrusion.

It is a swan. The perfectly white bird soars gracefully around the circumference of the water, wings catching the last bits of sunlight setting past the thick treeline. Gentle pinks and dreamy blues reflect on the surface of the wings as the swan circles lower and lower and smaller and smaller. Finally, just as the last light fades and the evening star flashes in the sky, the swan lands in the very center of the lake.

Killian cannot explain his captivation, his mesmerization. There is something about the way that the bird’s wings tuck against its body and the elegant curve of its neck, like a question he desires to be answered. For a moment, he thinks the bird has caught sight of him, a flick of that long neck making Killian’s breath catch in his his throat. But the confusion is gone as soon as it arrives and the creature turns to face away from him, toward the Dark One’s castle.

The evening star flashes again and the light hits the swan, creating a dazzling sparkle that renders Killian blind for a moment. He blinks rapidly, trying to see again, and when he looks out at the lake the swan has disappeared.

In its place is a woman dressed all in white, her long train trailing across the still-smooth face of the water and her sleeves nearly to the ground. From this distance, Killian cannot make out her dress perfectly, but the way it flutters in the breeze and sparkles in the dim light, it appears to be covered in white feathers and precious diamonds, pearls, and opals. The woman continues the swan’s path away from him and toward the looming castle, but instead of sinking into the water, she seems to float just above it. She reaches the far shore and, from the way her white-blonde curls bounce across her path, it appears that she has lifted her chin.

“Rumplestiltskin.” Her voice travels across the lake as clearly as though she is standing beside him, husky and haughty. Silently, Killian scrambles backward and into the treeline, out of sight. “What an unwelcome surprise.”

A high-pitched giggle, maniacal in its glee, pierces the silent forest. It is a sound Killian has not heard since it left the crocodile’s lips over the dust that used to be his love’s heart. “Good evening Princess.” The voice is sharper now and Killian moves swiftly on silent feet towards the sound, keeping the lake on his right. “Would you care to join me for dinner this evening?”

“I would rather not.”

The Dark One lets out a  _tsk_ and those lips are no doubt pursed in displeasure. “Now now, Princess. My son arrived this afternoon and he is anxious to see you again.”

The woman lets out a laugh at that, almost a chortle, and Killian peers through the trees just in time to see her roll her eyes. The movement mars what appears to be a lovely face - crinkled green eyes and pert nose and pale pink lips. Killian is mesmerized by her looks for only a moment before he realizes what the crocodile has said. His son? Baelfire? His throat closes in emotion at the remembrance of sweet brown eyes and wild hair of the same shade - and the way those eyes had darkened in rage in Neverland’s own starlight and the lad’s determination to return to his father rather than be with the  _pirate_ who stole his mother away.

That was nearly thirty years ago and though Killian is hardly a day older, the boy must be a full-grown man now. One who has made recompense with his father.

The woman before him crosses her arms across her chest defensively, the movement drawing Killian back to the present, and her jaw twitches in annoyance. “I do not imagine he is, Rumpelstiltskin. It has been years since Baelfire even feigned interest in me.”

“Oh Princess.” The Dark One’s voice grows sickly-sweet and he waves his arms with a flourish. “If only we could put that whole mess behind us then there is no need for all this. Do you really want to continue on with this curse? Wouldn’t you rather retain your human form at all times?” He steps forward as if to lay his palm on her shoulder, but the princess steps back and her hand darts to her side as if she is used to a sword being strapped there.

“I would rather be a swan at all times than married to a liar like your son!”

The crocodile’s jaw clenches and Killian’s fingers move toward his own sword, that look in his eyes too damn familiar, but then it melts off of his face and is replaced with a sneer.

“Come inside, Princess, and enjoy my hospitality. I believe you will find the fare finer than usual in celebration of my son’s return.”

The princess turns her head slightly and Killian realizes a delicate tiara rests on her golden curls, the starlight reflecting off of the jewels and winking in his direction. For one heart-stopping moment he thinks perhaps she has spotted him in the brush, but then she lets out another deep breath, picks up her skirts, and begins following the Dark One. “I will dine with you two, only I do not wish to stay late. I will return back to the lake by midnight.”

“Midnight?” The crocodile stops in his path and turns with a raised brow. “Why so early?”

She looks him over cooly. “Let me return to my lake by midnight so I may be alone with my thoughts.”

There is a furrow between the diminutive man’s eyes that bodes distrust, but he continues down his path, unaware of the furtive look that the woman gives Killian behind his back.

She bids him to stay.

So he stays.

* * *

 

The hours pass slowly, and though the mystery of this princess and her discussion with the crocodile compels him, his long day gets the better of him and Killian eventually drifts into a restless sleep. He startles awake to something nudging his ribs.

“Do you have parchment on you?”

A delicate white slipper toes against his side and Killian grasps it groggily, the princess thrown off balance by his touch.

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

“Parchment, you idiot.” Her foot wriggles out of his fingers and when the fog clears from his eyes she is frowning down at him with her hands perched on her waist. “Do you happen to have some on your person? Perhaps with a quill?”

“I am afraid not, Highness.” Killian runs a tired hand across his face. “I had not anticipated meeting someone who wished to record something.” He rises to his feet and stretches his arms above his head with a great groan and grins down at the beautiful woman as though this sort of thing happens every day. “ _Now_ would you mind telling me who you are and why you desired to speak with me this evening?”

Shrewd green eyes survey him from top to toe. “You must tell me who you are first.”

Killian dips into a short, jaunty bow. “Captain Killian Jones at your service. Although I am known by my more colorful moniker-”

“Hook.” She cuts him off with a raised brow.

“Ah.” He breaks into another grin and his thumb tucks beneath his belt buckle. “So you have heard of me.”

“Never. But the answer seemed obvious.” She eyes his appendage with a hint of amusement and there is even a suggestion of a smile on the corner of her lovely mouth. What would it take to make this gorgeous creature smile? Killian resolves to find out for himself. “And what is a pirate captain doing at the Dark One’s Castle?”

“Uh uh uh.” He raises a finger and twitches it back and forth. “Your name first, Princess.”

Her spine straightens a bit and he wonders if she is well used to her name being announced before adoring crowds at glittering balls and dazzling dinners. “Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

Killian scoops one of her hands into his own and bows again over the lovely limb, brushing his lips across her knuckles in a way that would be scandalous at any court. He chances a look up to catch her creamy cheeks break into a slight blush. “It is an honor, Your Highness.”

“Why are-” she draws her hand away and twists her fingers together nervously, “-why are you here?” Her blush is still rising but then her hands smooth down the bodice of her dress and she regains her height. “Wait, don’t tell me. Are you here to kill the Dark One?”

“How did-” he stammers in surprise and then discovers what she looks like when she smiles. It is truly a lovely thing, although he wishes it were not at his expense.

“Please. That is the only reason anyone ever ventures into the Dark Forest. Betrayed by some deal or another he has struck with them and foolishly believing that they can outsmart him.” His mouth gapes open and closed and she dismisses him with a flick of her wrist. “If you’re not going to listen to the only one who knows him as well as his son, then I have no use of you. Just go on to your death and leave me to wait for the next vengeance-seeking idiot.”

Killian closes his mouth finally and clutches his fingers together in a fist, fueled by the strange frustration this woman fills him with. “I am a patient woman, love. If there is any way I can help you before I defeat the Dark One then allow me to -”

She breaks into peals of laughter and the sound is as lovely as the pearls sewn onto her bodice, each giggle a round, perfect thing he wishes to string together and drape around her elegant neck. “And what makes you think you will be the first in three centuries to kill him? Your dashing looks will hardly be enough, Captain.”

His jaw twitches. He smirks. “Think I am dashing, do you?”

“I did not mean-”

“Of course you did, Princess. But never you mind.” He taps the small pouch hanging from his belt. “The most powerful poison in all the realms. I break his skin and there is no magic fast enough or strong enough to prevent his death.”

“Huh.” She cocks her hip slightly and eyes him with renewed interest. “Maybe you’ve got a chance if you can make your way into the castle undetected.”

“Now why do I have a feeling that this is the part where you come in?”

* * *

 

The princess bids him leave close to sunrise, requesting that he returns the next evening with a horse, a piece of parchment, and a quill. She promises that the Dark One will not return until the next time his son visits, and that could be months. When Killian inquires about why she will not allow him to sneak into the castle immediately, she rolls her eyes and continues the slow path they have been making through the forest.

“Because if you get yourself killed I will still be in the same position I was before you showed up. But if you help me first, at least I will have a chance to be saved after Rumplestiltskin sweeps your dead body into his moat.”

The trek back to the port village where the Jolly is docked is longer than it was the evening before. His face is bright red and his limbs weary and by the time he arrives midday he calculates only a few hours to sleep before he must return.

The journey is much easier on horseback. Killian was never given extensive equestrian lessons as a child, but the basics return to him with every gallop of the beast on the soft forest floor. It even begins to feel comfortable. The soreness in his muscles is worth the speed of his travel and Killian affords himself a quick stretch at the lake’s edge.

It happens as it had the evening prior. But this time Killian is prepared for it. The swan circles gracefully and alights upon the surface of the water. She transforms in an instant, but this time she faces him for the entirety, and his breath is taken away not only by her beauty but by the pleasure written across her face at the sight of him and the remembrance of their easy banter the evening prior.

“So you can follow orders.” She glides toward him and her nimble feet settle on the sand of the shore as if she has stepped down from a carriage. “I was afraid a pirate captain would much rather give them.”

“I assure you, Highness,” he steps forward to greet her with a kiss upon the back of her hand, “I am not unable to listen when a beautiful woman makes a request of me.”

Her blush is lighter this evening. “May I see the parchment?”

He produces the writing utensils from the saddle bag and the Princess settles down on a large flat rock to compose a missive. Killian turns his head to allow her some privacy and the scrape of the quill can be barely heard over the rustle of the wind and the movement of animals. She finally stands with a sigh and he looks at her again, half-expecting to see tears but instead catching a look of determination. She tucks the folded-up parchment back in the bag and gives him a brisk nod.

“If you would see that this letter reaches Queen Snow and King David in Misthaven, I would be grateful, Captain.”

“Why could you not speak to them in person?”

She draws her lower lip between her teeth and her eyes focus on a patch of forest behind him. When she releases the soft flesh it has turned a deep, delicious red and looks as though it would taste of rich wine. He wants to run his tongue along it to test his theory.

“It is the nature of this curse. Swan by day. Woman by night. But if I am not on the lake when night falls or dawn breaks, the curse will kill me. It is the Dark One’s way of binding me to this place.”

There are many questions running through his mind, though one rises to the surface, more concerned with her current status than the origin of her punishment. “Have you communicated with your parents since the curse?”

“No.” She bites her lip again. “Not in three years.” He opens his mouth to ask further and she cuts him off with the answer. “The nearest village is a half-day’s journey on foot, Captain. To travel there would be suicide. And none of those who venture into the Dark Forest and come across me have returned alive to help me reach out to them.” She shakes her head and turns slightly so her pale profile stands in sharp contrast to the deep green forest. “For all I know they believe me to be dead.”

“As soon as I return to the village, Your Highness, I will send one of my men on fastest horseback straight to Misthaven to deliver your letter. Your parents shall know of your state within the week.”

The princess nods and ducks her head. Covertly, she swipes at her eyes, but Killian pretends not to notice.

“Thank you, Captain. It is invaluable to know that after your death I may have hope of rescue.”

“My- my death?” He bristles at the casualness of her words and she turns in surprise, a whirl of white fabric. “Do you still have so little faith in me, Princess?”

Her jaw has tightened and her green eyes quickly lose the sparkle of tears. “Only that so many have failed before you. I have to be pragmatic if I ever expect this curse to be broken.”

“Ah, your curse.” Killian strides across the distance she has created between them and his long coat flaps behind him. “Care to reveal the nature of this curse, love? Perhaps I can break it for you.”

“Ha!” Her laughter this time is as sharp as the spikes on the crocodile’s castle and her flashing eyes cut twice as hard. “You are not man enough to break this curse.”

Spurred by her challenge, Killian takes a final step forward so they are toe-to-toe, hips leading suggestively and his tongue wetting his dry lips. “There is no challenge that I am not man enough to face.” He raises his brows as though her insults have rolled off of his back and not that they have dug through his thick coat and blistered his skin.

She smirks and leans forward so their noses almost touch. “Care to pledge everlasting love to me?” He blinks and steps backward. A flicker of something darts across her face before her smirk deepens. “That is what I thought.”

“Everlasting-”

The princess’s body twitches as though she wishes to step away from him, but her fists clench and she holds her ground. He admires her for it. “Everlasting love, that’s right. Rumplestiltskin expects his son to make it but he is clearly deluded if he thinks his son still loves me.” She scoffs bitterly and Killian takes another step backward to give her the space her body clearly desires. “Maybe one day, when we were both young and betrothed, he would have done so and damned the consequences, but I knew long before I caught him with another maid that Bae’s affections had drifted.” She bites the corner of her lip, briefly.

“Consequences?”

Her eyes jolt back to his at his question and her lip is even more dark and lovely. “To break the vow of everlasting love is death for both the giver and receiver.”

He nods in understanding. “Ah.”

The princess finally moves, turning her back to him. “When my parents arrive in less than a fortnight, one of them can make the vow and the curse will be broken.”

“You have such faith in your parents?”

Her head bows. “Of course I do. They are my parents.”

* * *

 

She slips into the forest after a few moments and though Killian tries to follow her, she has disappeared. Her white clothes should make her easy to spot but she seems to have left him with not a small amount of determination. He knows that she wants her letter delivered post-haste but he hates the idea of leaving without a goodbye. Killian returns to his steed and leans against the creature, waiting for the princess to appear.

“The horse is beautiful.”

The whispers startles him a quarter hour later and he makes an ungodly noise scrambling up from the tree he had started to drift asleep against. “Yes, yes,” he fumbles. Gone is the loneliness and rage that had filled her form. Her face is mild again. “Was there a reason you requested-?”

“I would love to visit the village and actually see others.” She sighs a bit, wistfully, and Killian wishes to give her the entire world on a platter fit for royalty.

“My steed awaits, Your Highness,” he says smoothly.

She shakes her head. “Not tonight. It has been too long since I have ridden and too much time has been wasted this night. But if you would allow me to practice?” The princess gestures to the animal and he nods.

Killian spends the next few hours watching her ride. She is a natural. It is obvious that her own equestrian training far outweighed his own, and it is though she and the beast are one. She trots back to him with a wide smile as the deep darkness before dawn settles heavily across the trees.

“Thank you, Captain,” she smiles, almost shyly.

“Killian.” Her brow furrows and he smiles in return, helping her step down from the horse. “Please call me Killian, Your Highness.”

“Killian.” She whispers the word and a shiver of pleasure goes down his spine. “You can call me-”

“Princess.” He loops the reins around his hook and chances a look down at her. “It would only be proper to call royalty by their titles. But if Your Highness will smile like that again, I would be more than happy to return tomorrow evening with the horse and we could venture into the village.”

She grins and his heart flutters within his chest.

* * *

 

The princess bids him leave before the dawn. He would like to watch her transformation back into her swan form, but he understands her need for privacy, so he wishes her a good day with a short bow before alighting his steed and making his way to his ship. Once there, he awakens, Billings, a lad who trained with a King’s Army before being sent to a Navy ship that the Jolly captured. The man takes his orders smartly and promises to return with a response post-haste if one is sent to the Captain.

Killian announces a fortnight of shore leave to his men and retreats into the Captain’s Quarters to sleep the day away.

The careful notice of his wardrobe is something Killian tries not to consciously dwell on. He prefers not to consider whether there is a reason he spends an extra half hour polishing his boots until he can nearly see his reflection, nor the way his fingers hover over all the waistcoats in his collection before settling on one the color of the lake she hovers over on her way towards him.

He attempts to clear his mind of all such thoughts on the twilight ride back to the forest.

The pirate captain arrives earlier than on the previous two evenings and he allows himself the extra minutes to compose himself and remind himself that his task is only to help a woman in distress before he finally fulfils his revenge. His aid is nothing more than good form.

This evening the white swan emerges from the forest at the opposite side of the lake and slips onto the water’s surface just as the evening star flashes. She transforms en route and this time Killian notices how she closes her eyes in pleasure for only a moment before blinking them open to fixate upon him. Rapidly, his mind repeats the mantra  _good form, good form, good form_  over and over again.

“I have a gift for you, Highness,” he says with a wink and a bow, holding out a bundle when she has stepped onshore.

“A present?” Her eyes grow wide.

Killian nods. “Open it.” She removes a dress and a corset from the bag, their fabric coarse and the colors muted. The princess furrows her brow and gives him a look of confusion. “If you want to visit the village without standing out then I would suggest you change, Princess.”

Her forehead becomes smooth again. “I understand. Clever thinking... Killian.”

The way her mouth lingers over the final word has him biting back a groan, as does the long look she gives him before ducking behind a tree to change. He turns his back to afford her the privacy she deserves and only twists around again at her gentle cough.

There had been a large part of him that hoped that if only she dressed like a commoner he would lose his desire to kiss the soft column of her throat and caress the curve of her waist. Unfortunately, she looks just as ravishing swathed in plain brown. There is even a new, larger part, that believes that he could forget about her royalty when she smirks at him surveying her in open-mouthed wonder.

“There-” he chokes out, vaguely gesturing toward her person. “Much better. Although-” he chances the five steps forward and stops breathing altogether when his hand reaches to the top of her head to pluck off the tiara, “perchance this should remain here, love.”

The princess nods and brushes past him to make her way to the horse. “I am ready when you are. We only have so long before we must return and I don’t want to waste a single moment.”

“Too right,” he mutters behind her. Killian climbs the horse and, looping the reins in his hook, offers her his hand. Her grip is firm in his as he helps her settle in front of him.

“Killian?” She turns her neck to give him a questioning look when he slides the reins off of his moniker and into her waiting hands. “Are you sure you want me to-”

“Of course, Princess,” he says shortly. “You are a far superior equestrian. I can recognize when I am beat. However,” his hand and hook settle at her waist and he swallows thickly, “I shall have to hold on to you for balance.”

The softening of her eyes and the widening of her smile can be signs of nothing but pleasure, and though he knows not whether it comes from his compliments or his surrender or the way he wraps his arms around her, her expression brings him pleasure as well. It is something he would like to gaze upon for hours.

The journey is the shortest he has experienced yet. There is hardly enough time to memorize the scent of her hair brushing against his nose or the exact curve of her waist or how it feels when she leans back against him ever so slightly. Far too soon they arrive on the edges of the town and he directs her toward a bustling tavern.

“If you wish to experience humanity again, Princess, I suggest  _The Green Fairy_.”

She strides up to the bar as though she is unused to glittering balls and elegant dinners, gait wide and smile easy, and orders the pair of them two tankards of mead and a bottle of rum.

“If it was rum you desired, love,” he whispers under his breath on their way to a table, “I would have offered you my flask.” Killian sets his mead down and extracts the flask in question, shaking it slightly.

“I had no idea.” She smiles and takes a deep pull of her tankard. “Perhaps another night.”

The princess spends the next hour or so nursing her drink and soaking in the laugher, the conversation, the flirting, the fighting of the tavern. Everything increases the wonder in her eyes. Killian finds himself gripping his tankard tighter to keep himself from reaching out to thumb at the dimple on her cheek. He has just opened his mouth to suggest a game of cards or dice when someone settles down beside him and presses a shoulder against his own.

“Captain Hook. What a pleasure.”

“Ah. Nina. He gives the barmaid a polite smile and tries to avoid the temptation to gaze at the bosoms she thrusts toward him with a grin. “How are you this evening, love?”

“I have had a simply rotten day.” She pouts dramatically and then bats her large blue eyes. “Although I think I know what would make me feel better…”

Killian leans away from the barmaid and loops his arm around the princess’s waist on his left to pull her against him. “Nina, have I introduced you to Miss Swan? She is my companion for this evening.”

“Oh.” The corners of her lips turn down further in a genuine frown, and she stands up slowly. “Well let me know if you need anything, Captain. I am always willing to help.”

“That shan’t be necessary,” he says firmly, turning to the princess to signal the end of the conversation.

“You did not have to do that.” Her eyes follow the barmaid’s exit and then meet his gaze. “If you want to spend your night with-”

“No.” Killian shakes his head, and though he knows he should drop his arm from her waist, he keeps it there and easily pours them two small measures of rum. “This is where I want to be.”

Before they leave the tavern her cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink and his side hurts from laughing. Her stories of life in the palace keep him in stitches and his stories of life on a ship make her eyes grow wide with excitement.

“I have missed real people and real conversation,” she sighs, patting the horse outside of the tavern. “Some days I wondered if I would ever make it out of that damn forest alive.”

“You shall, Swan,” he replies with a set to his jaw. The nickname had come to him easily with Nina and it had felt right to keep it up throughout the night. “You do not seem the type to fail.”

Her eyes flutter for a moment and she sways slightly toward him. His heart stops.

“You should be on your way.” Killian offers her a hand to climb on the steed. “Take the horse and the clothes so you can go wherever you desire tomorrow night.”

“And if-” she sways toward him again, “-if I desire to return here? To this tavern? With.. you?”

Killian ducks his head. “I shall be here tomorrow night, Highness.”

With his help she alights on the horse and takes off without a farewell. It is only when she has slipped into the Dark Forest that he realizes he has yet to ask her for advice in getting into the Dark One’s Castle.

* * *

 

His crew is elated that he joins them the next night in the tavern. “We missed you, Captain,” Smee chuckles with a pat of his shoulder. “A night of carousing is no fun without you.” Killian offers him a tense smile and allows himself to be caught up the crowd of crewmembers traveling from the docks to The Green Fairy and settling at a large table in the middle of the room for a game of Liar’s Dice. The rum makes his muscles loose but does not slow the pounding of his heart as he anxiously awaits the princess’s arrival. Will she return again now that she has been given the tools to her salvation?

Killian rolls another seven and slams his palm down on the table in glee, glad to have luck in one area of his life, when two hands press onto the tabletop in front of him.

“What are you boys playing?”

A pair of bosoms is in his face again, but by the time his gaze has worked its way up to the knowing smirk, he cares more for the sparkle in her eyes.

“Swan.” He bursts into his first genuine smile of the evening. The men by his side are all captivated by the princess’s looks and a few glance at him with confusion. What a wonderful opportunity to press his advantage. Killian pats his leg and lifts a brow. “I have saved a seat for you, love. Best seat in the house.”

She rolls her eyes but a smile dances at the corner of her mouth. “Why don’t I play you for it?” The princess reaches across the table and pours herself a heavy shot of rum that she downs with ease. She sets the cup back down and pops two fingers, likely sticky with liquor, into her mouth. He is so entranced with the sight that he almost misses her next words. “You win and I sit with you the rest of the evening. I win and you take me back to your ship.”

This is what they call a  _win-win_  situation.

Killian loses.

For show, Killian wraps his hooked arm around her waist as they exit the tavern, and his face begins to turn pink at the crew’s hoots and hollers bidding them farewell. “If I did not have a reputation as an accomplished ladies man,” he whispers once on the cobbled street, dropping his arm but leaning in close to her ear, “then exiting that tavern with a woman as stunning as you appearing so willing shall send me into veritable notoriety.”

There appears to be a blush of her own across her face. She does not move away from him. “It is the least I can do for your help, Killian.”

They reach the Jolly Roger quickly, the streets empty as the windows of the taverns and inns and bars glow with merriment. It is different than their walks through the forest. Killian feels steadier somehow, as though the ground is firmer beneath his feet.

“Behold,” he gestures, dock creaking under them, “the Jolly Roger.”

“She’s beautiful.” Killian motions for her to step onto the deck before him, her steps timid until he reaches for her hand and holds her steady to offset the gentle rocking. The princess runs her free hand across the wood of the rail and he can feel the sigh of the ship.

“She likes you.”

“She-” The princess turns to him, confusion on her brow, “-she likes me?”

“The ship. She is made of enchanted wood. Strongest and fastest ship in all the realms. It may sound silly but I-” Killian pulls back and rests both hand and hook on the rail beside her, “-I feel as though she has emotions, that she knows when the crew is in danger and rejoices when we are victorious.”

The princess’s eyelashes flutter for a moment and she sways again, toward him and away, and then she blinks and takes a step back. “Perhaps your ship senses that I too hate Rumplestiltskin.”

“Of course.” Killian clears his throat of the lump and the emotion and the hope that had congealed there and shuffles his feet. “My ship, she’s a marvel. Understands the difference between an enemy and an ally. Tell me,” he crosses his arms and leans his side against the railing to survey her, “how did you and Rumplestiltskin become enemies in the first place? You mentioned his son…”

“Bae.”

The nickname slipping from her sweet lips sound so much like Milah and her reverence for the boy that it makes tears spring to his eyes. Killian can only turn and survey the open water before them rather than risk her seeing his expression.

“You love him.”

“I did.” From the corner of his eye he catches the way her chin juts out proudly. “Once a long time ago. My parents were brought together by the Dark One. And on the day of their wedding he told them they would have a daughter and she would rule Misthaven with wisdom and grace. He brought his son Baelfire to the ceremony and promised to continue protecting the kingdom and helping them magically if his recently-returned son could marry their daughter. The boy was kind and respectful and my parents agreed on the condition that a wedding would take place if the two of us got along when we grew up.”

“And did you?” He can imagine the brave, headstrong Bae he knew all those years ago being drawn to the beautiful Princess Emma. A little girl with a mop of blonde curls running after a teenaged boy with a kind smile. The image is not painful as long as it remains in the past.

“Famously.” He can now see an older girl blushing as she dances with a tall Bae, brown hair combed back elegantly. “I adored him as a child and as a woman we developed a genuine friendship.”

“And yet you said you caught him with another maid.”

She sighs and her shoulders tense. The movement is slight, but the shift in the air is dramatic. “At my twenty-fifth birthday ball. We were soon to announce our wedding date. I was hurt and betrayed and I threatened to call it all off.”

“I imagine the Dark One was not too keen on that idea.”

The responsive laugh is short and bitter. “Not at all. He magicked us to his castle and threatened the both of us with the curse. I am cursed to wait for him to make a promise he will never make.”

There is no doubt that tears are sliding down her face. All Killian can do is reach out a hesitant hand and rest it on her shoulder. “Your parents shall be here soon, Princess. And all shall be made well.”

She lays her hand over his and sighs again. “My parents will always find me,” she says with such conviction that it makes his heart swell. “Of that I am sure.” The princess lifts his palm off of her shoulder and for a moment he believes she wants him to pull away, so he starts to step back, but she only grips him with her other hand as well, fingers firm around his wrist. “Well, Captain,” she giggles, voice suddenly light, “I have shared my secrets with you,” her fingers shove up the fabric of his jacket and shirt and reveal the tattoo on his forearm. “Would you care to tell me who  _Milah_ is?”

Killian resists the urge to pull his hand away again. It is overwhelming, despite the way her fingers are gently tracing the heart of the tattoo and her thumb runs across the name at the center. Her touch is gentle and kind and, for the first time in ages, he feels more hope for the future than pain at the past.

“She was a woman I loved. Long ago.”

The princess’s head tilts up and, drawn by the motion, he meets her startled gaze. “What kind of a woman earns the love of Captain Hook?”

“A wonderful one.” Killian smiles softly. “She was not the type to just listen to stories, she prefered to live them as well. Left her husband and son so she could sail with me and make her life the way she wanted it. She could knock most of my men on their arses in battle and knew how to command the Captain with ease.”

“She does sound wonderful.”

“Aye.” He nods and then he cannot look at her any more, it is too painful. His gaze returns to her fingers upon his tattoo and his voice turns husky. “She was until the Dark One murdered her. Ripped her bloody heart out in front of me.”

The fingers still on his arm. “Why?”

“She was his wife.”

“Oh.” He expects her to draw back in disgust or dismay, but her hand gently wraps around his arm, palm covering the faded red heart. “I don’t blame her for leaving him. That man is an ass.”

A burst of hysterical laughter erupts out of him and then she giggles too, and they both clutch their sides to keep from keeling over on the deck of the Jolly, their shared annoyance with the damn crocodile more than can keep them sane.

When silence descends once more, their faces are both flushed and their eyes are sparkling merrily. Killian removes his flask from his coat and offers her a drink before taking one of his own. The rum slides down his throat with familiar warmth and he sighs in pleasure before leaning against the rail again and grinning when her shoulder knocks his as she does the same.

“Do you think killing him would break the curse on me?”

“Most likely.”

“I,” she bites her lip and once again it resembles a deep garnet wine when she releases the soft flesh, “I will help you if you care to attempt it. Only no one has succeeded in these three years I have watched warriors and wizards cross my path on their way to his castle. Will you,” her hand rests over hers and draws all the breath from his lungs, “be  _quite_ careful, Killian?”

He wants to tell her no. He wants to tell her that he will give up on his vengeance if it means his death or her anguish. But he is not a strong enough man to do so. He has waited hundreds of years to accomplish this for Milah and he is not sure that he can throw that all away.

“With your aid, Swan, I can do it.” He flips his wrist beneath her touch and, as though it is habit, she laces their fingers together. “Tomorrow night can you begin teaching me the secrets of the Dark One’s Castle?”

There is a long moment that she hesitates, searching his eyes, and then she finally nods and looks down at their intertwined hands. “Tomorrow night. I will meet you back here at your ship.” She looks up at the stars and to the horizon before them. “I should return to the lake now.”

“Aye.”

The princess pulls away from his grasp. When she steps onto the dock, the Jolly sighs in loss and Killian does too.

* * *

 

Killian has a fine memory, but never before has he been so grateful for parchment and quill. The princess furiously scribbles notes and diagrams for him to memorize, but mere descriptions will slip from his mind when she is seated next to him at the wide desk in the Captain’s Cabin, wild curls falling over her shoulder and the soft flesh of her arm occasionally brushing against his own. It is almost as though the gods engineered a woman to keep him from focusing on the important task at hand. Was this the crocodile’s plan all along? Send a fierce, stunning princess to stop him from fulfilling his mission?

When she calls his name and he takes a moment to respond, her eyes glint in amusement and he is sure she bloody well knows what has him so distracted.

Minx.

“If I stare at this diagram any longer I shall turn into a castle myself, Swan,” he grumbles, covering his weary eyes with his left arm and reaching out for his flask with the other hand. “Can we take a break?”

She huffs in annoyance and when he withdraws his arm it is to the sight of all glee stripped from her face. “I am trying to keep you alive, Killian.”

He offers her the flask and she shakes her head. “I think you will find that I am a survivor. I shall make it in and out safely one way or the other.” The princess looks unconvinced and he holds up the flask again until she reluctantly accepts it. “I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, love. If I defeat him, my Milah shall be avenged and your curse lifted. If I perish, my crew raises their mugs in tribute and move on to other adventures.”

The princess wipes off her mouth with the back of her hand and leans back in her chair. “You truly believe no one would mourn your death?” There is a curious furrow in her brow Killian wishes to smooth out. Instead, he reaches for the flask and takes another gulp.

“Not for long. The world would get by without me.”

“Hmm.” Her lips purse together. Killian tamps down any hope that her concern for his wellbeing might suggest. “If he kills you tomorrow night do you have any regrets?”

Of course. He has many, many regrets. Not stepping in when Liam ran a ragged cut down his arm and poisoned himself. Letting Milah taunt a man with a short temper and a great deal of magic. The men that he subjected to 200 years of torture in Neverland without asking for their consent to join him. The time he wasted instead of preparing for his revenge.

Never getting to kiss this princess who looks at him with concern in her bright green eyes.

“Aye. A few.”

“I have regrets too. I think about them every sunrise and every sunset.” Her voice has melted into a whisper and they are both leaning forward as though to catch every single word spoken between them. He wants to bottle this night and set it on a shelf to gaze at for his remaining hours before he ventures into the Dark One’s Castle.

“Not for long,” he whispers back.

“No.” Her lips are now so close to his that her breath is tickling his cheeks and he cannot hold back the shiver the nearness of her body is inspiring. “Not for long.”

Her words fade into nothing and then she presses those lips against his and the nothing becomes every damn thing in the world. He had wondered if she tasted like fine wine and he moans softly when he finds that she does. It is the sweetest, most intoxicating kiss in his memory. He lets her control it as he did the horse that carried them away from darkness and isolation. They become one - one breath, one flesh, one moment away from the world. Her mouth opens against his and his tongue sweeps inside to taste and to relish. Her breath catches and his stops altogether. He surely must be dead because kissing has never, ever been like this before.

She curls her fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck when she pulls away, and her lips twist into a smile when he chases them.

“There,” she says smugly, voice thick with desire, “one less regret for me.”

“And I as well,” he mumbles.

The princess pulls him in again and kisses his cheek softly. “Meet me at the lake one last time tomorrow evening before you enter the castle. I want to see you.”

Killian can only nod dumbly and allow her to slip out of the chair and out of his grasp.

“Oh, and one last thing.” She turns at the ladder and she is grinning over her shoulder. “When you come tomorrow night, call me Emma. No excuses.”

She is gone before he can protest and before his thoughts have come back to his mind.

This may change some things.

* * *

 

Killian can hardly sleep that night, head spinning with diagrams and explanations and the way his knees had gone weak when he drew her top lip between his teeth and she let out a little gasp. He dreams of greeting her at the lake and, kissing her again, then transforming into swans, one white, one black, and flying off into the forest together.

He dreams of molting, so all of his black feathers fall off and he is as white and shining as she.

Despite his lack of sleep, Killian’s heart is racing and his palms are sweating and his head is clear as he takes a newly-acquired horse deep into the Dark Forest to meet his fate. Whatever shall happen shall happen tonight, once and for all.

He is filled with equal parts dread and excitement.

The white swan honks at him from a branch when he arrives at the lake. The sound is so unlike the beautiful timbre of the princess’s voice that he chuckles, his nerves vanishing away. He climbs down from the horse and the swan flutters over to perch upon the vacated saddle. He laughs again.

White wings smooth down and the long neck arches so large, intelligent eyes blink down at him. Hesitantly, Killian reaches out his hand. The swan lowers her neck and allows him to gently pet her from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. He does this for a few minutes as she shivers in contentment, and then she affectionately nips at his hand, spreads her wings, and flaps to the lake.

A moment later the evening star flashes twice and the swan becomes a princess, as stunning as the first night he saw her transform.

“I’m sorry, love, I do not know whether that was appropriate-”

She races toward him, the water coming up in little splashes, creating ripples on the lake, and wraps her arms around his neck and slants her mouth against his own.

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she whispers when she pulls back, her breath still warming his lips, and she shivers again when his hook runs the length of her spine and rests on the swell of her arse, “but I do not care.”

“Then neither do I.” And  _he_ kisses  _her_ this time and her warmth pressed against his front is softer and lovelier than he ever could have imagined in all his years of loneliness and all his years of chasing away the demons with drink and women. She is real - more real to him than anything has been in a long time - and he runs his thumb along her jaw with a soft sigh when he draws back.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

No.

He is not sure.

Killian is beginning to doubt himself, to doubt his mission. Would Milah really want him to kill her murderer? Or would she rather…

The princess burrows her nose into the hollow of his throat and sighs, her scent filling his senses. “Wait a few days, Killian. My parents will come rescue me and then you will be welcomed to Misthaven as a hero. I can give you whatever you want. Titles, ships, gold. Enough treasure to make your men happy. And the islands and seas near Misthaven are beautiful. I am sure the Jolly would love to explore them all. You can just-” she looks up and the vulnerability shining in her eyes takes away his breath, “be free of all this.”

What she promises him seems a reward for a man who has done a great deed, not someone who delivered a letter. Slowly, he shakes his head and brushes his lips against her forehead.

“I told you, Emma, I am a survivor. I shall see you back here before dawn.” He kisses her again, chastely, and steps out of the protective embrace of her arms. “I promise I shall return,” he whispers.

He does not look back.

* * *

 

Killian does not enter the grand gate that faces opposite of the swan’s lake. Instead, following Emma’s instructions, he finds a hidden opening on the ground beside an ancient stump, the small, dank tunnel providing him access beneath the moat and into the cellar of the castle. The number of items in the Dark One’s larder is impressive. A large collection of wines from deepest reds to clearest whites. Liquors in lovely shades of brown and hazel and walnut. Cheeses and cold meats and dried fruits from around the realm. His mouth waters at the sight of the vast variety of tasty delicacies. Surely the crocodile must eat like a king every night.

He resists the temptation to pocket some of the food for himself or Emma, wary of a possible protective spell upon the crocodile’s possessions. On nimble feet born from years of midnight raids, he climbs the stairs and enters a spacious kitchen. A figure exits the door just as Killian enters and he quickly moves into a servant’s hallway.

There, following the memorized diagrams he had poured over for hours, Killian sweeps through the maze of a castle until he makes his way to the sitting room where the crocodile sips his post-supper drink and falls into a doze sometime around midnight.

It is not yet eight, but Killian Jones is a patient man.

He can wait.

And he does, leaning against the back wall of the closet and listening carefully for the crocodile’s approach. It takes two hours for the Dark One’s reptilian feet to click down the hallway and enter the room, less than a minute to pour a drink and settle on a couch, and another two hours and four drinks for him to let out his first soft snore.

Killian waits another half an hour before slowly opening the closet door and tiptoeing toward the slumped-over crocodile. The scent of the dreamshade is sharp as he lifts his soaked hook and arches it toward the slumbering man.

And then all he remembers is the bright spark of yellow eyes and the world goes black.

* * *

 

Killian wakes up with a bump on his head and his hook gone.

“Looking for this?”

The giggle is recognizable, high and cruel and sending dread down Killian’s spine. The pirate slowly opens his eyes to survey the dark, cold cell his body has been flung in and the pathetic excuse for a man surveying him through its bars. The Dark One holds his hook aloft, but before Killian can reach for it the appendage disappears in a cloud of deep red smoke.

“Oops!” the crocodile giggles again. “Can’t let you have that, dearie. Why would I want deadly poison so close to me?” Killian pushes off of the ground to sit up and immediately presses his lips together to keep the wave of nausea from spilling the contents of his stomach across the cell floor. The crocodile grips the bars tightly and grins down at him. Killian could count every pointy tooth if he had the presence of mind.

“Did you think I did not know what was going on in my own backyard?” The Dark One sneers. “That I was unaware of the friendship that was developing beneath my very nose?” He spits and jerks his head to Killian’s right. The pirate looks over and there, in the cell adjacent, is Princess Emma, lying prone on the floor. “Did you truly believe you could win a princess, Pirate? When she has belonged to another since before her conception?” Spittle flies through the bars and across Killian’s face.

The Dark One waves his clawlike hand and Killian feels a dampness spread across his body like a bucket of cold molasses. “I shall send my son in to pledge his everlasting love to the princess and you can see for yourself how much of her heart you have won.” With a final giggle, the crocodile disappears from the room.

Killian spends the next hour shaking the bars and reaching through them to wake Emma, but to no avail. He screams and shouts until his throat is sore, but she does not budge. What has Rumplestiltskin done? Will the princess recover? He has just slumped against the wall in defeat when a door creaks open and a man in brown leathers enters the room.

There is no doubt that this man is Bae. He possesses the same round face he had as a child and his eyes are just like his mother’s. Killian stands again in surprise and exclaims, “Bae!” but it is as if the man cannot hear him. His eyes are only for the princess.

“Emma!” Bae’s hand reaches through the bars and shakes a slender ankle. “Psst, Emma, wake up!”

And though all of Killian’s ranting and vigorous jostling had done nothing, this quiet sound and movement wakes her up in a flash, spine shooting straight up to the ceiling.

“Bae?” She rubs her eyes in confusion and squints, taking her time to stand and face him. Killian moves as close as possible to her cell so he can be beside her. It is obvious now that the crocodile cast a spell so he can only watch and listen, not participate. This is part of his torture for daring to defy the Dark One.

“Bae what are you doing here? I thought you just left your father’s.”

“He- he wanted me to come back immediately.” Baelfire grips the bars in much the same manner as his father, though his thick fingers were made more for holding parchment and charcoal, not a wand or a heart. “He said the time is up on the curse. I have to pledge my love to you.”

Emma steps back in surprise. “You do?”

“This is it, Em.” Bae nervously glances around the room and then out the open window of her cell, where the moon hangs large and full. “He is locking you in here until the dawn. So I either make the pledge or you die tonight.”

Her entire body goes still and Killian wants to reach out and grasp her hand. This is not what she wants, of that he is certain. She has been too hurt by Bae in the past to want to be bound to him for life. But this is her only hope of survival.

“Bae?” Her voice is a warning, a question. “What do we do?”

“I-” he looks at her for a long time. Killian can only imagine the history these two shared and the memories that must be racing through each of their minds. Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps breaking the curse the way the crocodile wants it will settle everything peacefully. Perhaps Emma and Bealfire can be happy again.

“I-” Bae takes a breath and takes a step back. “I cannot do it.”

Emma’s mouth opens in shock.

“I’m sorry, Em, but we both know I can’t keep that vow. And if I make it now we both die.” He backs towards the door and his fumbling, shaking hands search for the handle. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, before slipping away and leaving Emma to her death.

There is a long, tense moment when she only stares at the door he has walked through and her mouth trembles as though she will cry. Killian jumps in surprise when instead she runs forward, grasps the bars of the cell, and shouts a stream of profanities that would make a member of his crew blush.

She rants for nearly a quarter hour as he watches her, forced into silence by another one of the crocodile’s tricks. She rattles the bars and punches the stone walls until her knuckles bleed. Finally, exhausted, she curls into a ball in the center of the cell and stares out the window.

Emma makes no more noises, though tears start to fall down her cheeks, coating them with the salty evidence of her distress. As he watches her, his own eyes well up, and he sits on the ground facing the princess, wiping his face dry until it no longer seems to matter.

The Dark One will make him witness Emma die. And then he will come back and kill the pirate.

“Killian.”

The whispered word makes him sit up in surprise. Has the spell broken? No, her eyes still focus on the window and the deep darkness that will soon turn grey.

“Killian, I hope you kill that sonofabitch.” Her voice catches and she gasps, choking on her words. “And you-” Emma’s shoulders shake and her words blend together, “-and you find peace.”

She sobs for several more minutes, giving up on brushing the tears from her face and keeping her eyes on the moon. “Mama,” she finally whispers. “Papa.” Her back bends and her whole body shakes now, hiccuping in anguish. “I love you so much. If I had known that letter would be the last you would get from me I would have told you a thousand times.”

Emma lets out three choked, strangled sobs, and then she slowly rests her body on the ground, curled up facing away from the door, and seems to drift into an exhausted sleep.

She will die without pain. This at least brings Killian some comfort.

“Emma.”

His voice echoes off of the dungeon walls but she does not move.

“Emma I have failed you. If I had only been patient you would have never had to die.” Killian leans as far forward as he can through the bars that separate their cells and his fingers brush against the silk of her slippered foot. He smiles bitterly at the memory of the last time he held her like this, when she kicked him awake with a scowl. He could never have predicted what would have come of it all.

“You changed my life, Princess.” Killian whispers gruffly. “I never believed I could move on after my first love, my Milah, but meeting you has shown me that I can.” He grips her foot tighter. “If you had asked, I would have pledged my everlasting love to you the night that we met. Or the night you kissed me and changed my whole world.”

“Emma.”

It is getting hard to breathe now and the sobs threaten to close off his aching throat for good. The moon is fading and any moment she will transform into a swan and breathe her last. Killian pulls his hand back and curls up on the floor of the cell, chin to his chest and forehead against his knees.

“I have only a few miserable moments left in this life, Emma, but I pledge to love you with every last beat of my heart.”

A light flashes through the window - the morning star - and he looks up and over to the princess in white.

The light flickers and she becomes a swan, and then it flickers again and she is back in her long white dress and tiara, and it flickers a third time and she is dressed in a vivid red gown with a cloud of tulle pillowing her body.

“Emma?”

Killian stands, fingers digging painfully around the bars of the cell, and watches in awe as she blinks her eyes open and looks up at him.

“Killian?” She crosses to him in a flash, one palm pressing against the back of his hand and the other cradling his cheek. “Killian, what happened?” Emma looks down at her dress and back into his eyes with a mixture of confusion and elation. “What’s going on?”

“I think,” he presses into her touch, “that I made a vow of everlasting love and the curse was broken.”

She frowns and he immediately wishes he could take back his words and bring back her grin. “Why would you do that?”

“I think you know why.”

The kiss she gives him breathes new life back into his lungs.  He feels as though he could fly, run, conquer entire kingdoms. It is the dawn of a new day and his life has new purpose.

“How do we get out of here?” she whispers, lips swollen and eyes bright.

“The crocodile will return to kill me now that I have watched you die. Lie back down and pretend to be dead and when he comes to gloat I will overpower him.”

There is no doubt on her features and he kisses her again, inspired by the hope she has for him. But they cannot miss this opportunity to trick the Dark One, and so he bids her to sprawl on the floor and he crumbles against the opposite corner of the cell and anxiously awaits Rumplestiltskin's return.

The minutes feel like hours before the telltale click of the crocodile’s footsteps echo down the hall and the door creaks open.

“Oh dear me.” He giggles. “A dead princess? I hate when that happens. Ruins the property value you know.”

Killian relaxes every muscle in his body and tries to look as pathetic as possible. The crocodile cannot resist laughing over his pain.

“Oh, is the poor pirate sad?” The cell door squeaks as the crocodile opens it and the footsteps come toward him. “Lost another love, has he? What a shame.” A boot makes contact with his side and Killian crumples, letting out a sob and a grunt.

“Did you hear me, pirate?” The Dark One grips Killian’s hair and forces his face up, so he can look in the yellow, reptilian eyes dripping with glee but not a trace of compassion. “She is dead and gone just like Milah.”

Lightning-fast, Killian swings a punch at the scaley face and the crocodile slumps on the ground, unconscious.

“This time is different, crocodile,” Killian grits out, standing and spitting on the Dark One’s prone body. He crouches to find the keys attached to a slick golden belt and slides the whole ring off and exits his cell.

Emma is trembling on the other side, from fear or pride he cannot tell, and it only takes four tries before the correct key slides into the lock and he frees her. They spare themselves only a moment to embrace, her arms strong around his waist and his own gripping her shoulders tight, and then he takes her hand and they make their way out of the castle as quickly and as quietly as possible.

“Your Hook-!” she shouts somewhere close to the kitchen, but he shakes his head and pulls her further, faster.

“I do not need the damned thing. We need to get out of here.”

The castle is empty and though Killian half-expects to encounter a whole army of servants ready to stop them, they meet no resistance as they slip into the cellar, through the tunnel, and out into the woods. Small animals dart out of their noisy path. Killian has never raised such a ruckus in his life. His heart is pounding by the time they emerge at the lake. They stick by the shoreline on their way to the horses, waiting to take them far away.

“I told you, love,” he wheezes, helping her onto her horse and mounting his own, “I told you I would return.”

Emma grips the reins and urges her steed to start moving. “Yes you did. But now let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

 

Her parents are concerned at first.

Receiving the letter was comforting and alarming enough, but to arrive four days later and find your daughter in the company of a pirate captain was something different altogether.

“He saved me,” she says. Her parents raise their eyebrows.

“I love him,” she continues. Their faces grow dark.

“He broke the curse,” she concludes, “and if either of us betrays the other, we both die.” She clutches his hand tighter, glares at her parents, and Killian tries to look as nonthreatening as possible.

It takes most of the voyage back to Misthaven for Queen Snow to stop frowning whenever she catches them kissing and for King David to discontinue the constant clutching of his sword. It takes another month or two, of welcome back balls and Killian’s easy diplomacy, for her parents to start to see the good in him.

But these concerns all melt away when Emma and Killian take a midnight stroll beside the lake she had dug behind the palace, swans of white and black silently gliding and the moon shining down upon them peacefully. Emma in starlight grows more lovely every day and when the morning star flashes, his heart skips a beat and he kisses her lovely red lips until she smiles.


End file.
